


Gunslinger

by fleabittengray



Category: Avenged Sevenfold, Synacky - Fandom
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Depression, F/M, Iraq, Iraq War, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Synacky - Freeform, War, War AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-10
Updated: 2015-11-12
Packaged: 2018-02-24 21:39:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2597348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fleabittengray/pseuds/fleabittengray
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zacky is a private in the United States Army. He joined the California National Guard at seventeen to give himself a purpose in life after the death of his family. His whole family. </p><p>Brian is lonely. And gay. But no one knows. He's a tough guy and causes a lot of trouble. </p><p>One day, Brian joins a group that sends letters to soldiers overseas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Letters Keep Me Warm

**Author's Note:**

> Before anyone asks, yes you can join the National Guard at seventeen. I did it. So, yeah.
> 
> This is my first official Synacky fic! No idea how long it will be at this point. Got the idea while listening to Gunslinger on my way home from group. I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> All the information probs won't be right, concerning the military, but oh well. I did my best. Besides, this is fiction, right?
> 
> I made a playlist for this, btw: http://8tracks.com/fleabittengray/gunslinger
> 
> Tumblr: slendyisbae
> 
> Twitter: @fallenangel6661

Basic training had been interesting. Fun, to be honest, but very difficult. And lonely. He'd received no letters, unlike the rest of his company. He never made any phone calls. No one came on family day or to see his graduation. He didn't even get to go back home like the rest of the seventeen year olds for his senior year because he'd dropped out of high school as sixteen and gotten his GED. Instead of going home, back to California from Fort Jackson in South Carolina, he instead was shipped off to another base for AIT. Basic had been ten weeks in the hot summer sun. He'd been a good recruit. Quiet, never really said much or made many friends, but he was good, nonetheless. And just so happened to be the youngest in his company of about two hundred people. Luckily enough, some of the older men decided to take him under their wing, especially after they heard everything he had been through. Even the drill sergeants had been a bit kinder to him. He was a pretty good shot, too. Perfect, actually. He hit all of his targets during qualification, the only one to do so in the company. After that came seven weeks of less physically intense work. He was an 88M, Motor Transport Operator, which was good because he'd always liked working on cars. Again, he was the youngest. And graduated as one of the top in his class. He was promoted from an E1 to an E2. Still a private but, hey, he made more money, which he needed. That was part of the reason he had joined the damn military. He'd been reluctant to cut his hair and remove his piercings - a septum piercing and snakebites that he'd gotten at fifteen - but... he'd had to.

He's twenty now and on his first deployment in Iraq. It's his second month and he's managed to make a few friends. One in particular. Sergeant Sanders. Big guy, built like a brick wall. Most people were afraid of him because he had a bit of a temper and was well known for breaking noses when someone pissed him off but he was a good guy. Had a family back home, a wife and a son, River, who was about a year old now. Sanders hadn't seen his son since the day of his birth. He'd been shipped off to combat the very next day. Zacky always thought that was fucked up but, hey, that was the military for you. Lots of things about it were pretty fucked up but it was good. It had provided for him. Given him a purpose in life. It was the only reason he was still living, honestly. If he hadn't joined the army he probably would have just killed himself or something. Who could blame him? No family (not that they had really liked him when they had still been alive), no friends, nothing. Well, he had friends now. Army friends. But that was different. They were his battle buddies.

"Baker, get your ass out here!" The familiar voice of another private, an E1, Private Seward, broke him out of his thoughts. He looked up from the book he was reading (it was a humvee manual, really, not a book, he didn't have any) and blinked as he stared at the short man standing at the entrance of their room. Bunk. Whatever. It was his home for the next... two years? He didn't remember. Didn't really care to remember. "That stupid pen pal shit you signed us up for is happening today. Come on. We're late. We were supposed to be there," he paused, glancing at his watch and frowning, "like, two minutes ago. You know how Sergeant Sanders gets when people are late so get your fat ass up and lets go."

Zacky rolled his eyes and sighed but closed the book (manual, whatever) and got up. He grabbed his ACU top and pulled it on, zippering and velcroing it as he walked over to meet Seward, who was already walking away. Zacky knew that he was excited. He was expecting a letter from his "friend," Jimmy, from back home. Zacky knew the truth. Jimmy was more than a friend to Johnny (that was Seward's first name, Johnny). They were together. Zacky wasn't sure how long, he'd never bothered to ask. Figured it wasn't his business. 

Why letters and not emails? Well... basically because the internet out here was shit. It rarely ever worked. Once in a while, they could get on Facebook for, like, five minutes at a time (not that Zacky ever really bothered to go on Facebook, what was the point when all of your friends were deployed with you) but other than that... letters it was. Most of the men and women bitched about it but Zacky hadn't really cared up until recently, when Sergeant Sanders had pulled him aside and asked if he wanted to sign up for this pen pal thing. Sanders knew that Zacky was lonely. And sad, very sad, and he wanted to help the younger man so he convinced him to sign up. Not wanting to seem like a pussy, Zacky had convinced Johnny to sign up, too (very reluctantly) but, hey, that's what battle buddies were for, right?

 _No, they're to make sure you don't get your leg blown off by an IED._ The thought, though rather dark, made his lips twitch up into a slight smile as he walked to another building where all of the mail was handed out. They would Sergeant Sanders quickly. He handed Johnny two letters and the small man did his best to keep a goofy smile off his face as he looked down at the letter from Jimmy (he failed and Sanders just pretended not to notice, it wasn't his business who Seward was attracted to) before the hazel eyed man turned to Zacky with a warm smile. Zacky noticed that he had dimples as he took the letter.

"I saved this one for you. You said you were from Huntington Beach, right?" he asked the younger man quietly and Zacky nodded, looking down at the envelope and chucking when he saw the return address. It was a P.O. Box from Huntington Beach, go figure. However, there was no name. Just the letter B where a name should have gone. Zacky didn't care. A letter was a letter, wasn't it? He figured it was probably some high school girl or something who wanted to flirt with a man in uniform. Zacky didn't mind. Wasn't like they would ever meet or anything.

"Yeah," he said without thinking before quickly correcting himself with a sheepish smile as Sergeant Sanders arched a brow at him. Sanders hated when people said yeah. It reminded Zacky of this one drill sergeant at basic who would smoke a whole platoon just for one recruit accidentally saying yeah. Hell, he would smoke the whole damn company if he could get away with it (and he could). "Fuck. I mean yes. Thanks, Sergeant. I'll just head back home now. See ya in the morning."

Sanders laughed and nodded, watching as Zacky and Johnny headed back to their "home" with their letters in hand. Johnny had already opened the one from Jimmy and was reading it with wide eyes. Zacky had decided to wait to open his letter.

"Oh my God, Jimmy nearly set out kitchen on fire. Again!"

Zacky chuckled, looking over curiously at the smaller man. "So you _do_ live together! I knew it." 

That made Johnny blush and he quickly folded the letter and stuffed it back into the envelope with a huff. "Shut up, Baker."

"It's cool, man. I don't care. You should know that by now."

Johnny didn't say anything until they were both sitting on their beds which were right next to each other. "So... who's yours from?"

Zacky shrugged, turning the letter over in his hand to see if a name was written on the back. There wasn't one. "Dunno. Just says B, but it's from my town. So..." He shrugged again.

They didn't talk anymore after that. Johnny laid back in his bed and read Jimmy's letter again, the one from his pen pal forgotten on the table next to his bed. Zacky, on the other hand, was carefully opening the envelope as he sat with his back against the headboard. He was nervous and he didn't know why. Okay, maybe he did know why. This was his first letter. Who cares if it wasn't someone he actually knew? They had still obviously cared enough to send it and that made him feel... not so sad.

The letter was typed which he found interesting. To be honest, he had kind of been curious about this person's handwriting. Sighing quietly, he finished unfolding the letter (it wasn't very long) and began to read.

_Dear Soldier,_

Okay. That was funny. And cute. Zacky found himself smiling as he continued to read.

_My name, well. Call me B. Sorry, don't wanna... give my name. At least not right now. Maybe later, though. If we get along, I guess. I found this group that sends letters to soldiers overseas and I was bored so I joined. You probably have a ton of letters or emails or whatever from family and friends so I'm not really expecting a reply. Just wanted to thank you for serving our country (sorry if you're tired of hearing that from everyone...). I could never do what you do. I'd be scared shitless (sorry if you don't like cursing...). So... what do you do? If you don't mind me asking. You don't have to answer me. I'm not expecting a reply, as I said. Just always been kinda curious about the military. Seen a lot of war movies with my dad. He's a comedian, though, so he's always cracking jokes about them which can be a bit annoying. Anyway, you probably don't want to hear all this crap about me. Again, thank you for your service. Bet it takes a lot to be a soldier. Lot of mental and physical strength or whatever._

_B._

And... that was it. It was short but Zacky couldn't stop smiling. He found himself wishing that the person had sent a picture so that he could put a face to the "name" but he figured if they didn't want to give their name, they probably weren't going to give him a picture, either, and that was fine. This was great. This short letter that didn't really even say much. It was great. Perfect. He wouldn't be able to type a letter back, the computers were shit and the printers even worse, but he liked writing things by hand better, anyway. Eager to star, he grabbed a notebook (he usually used it as a journal but he could spare a page for this) and a pen (black, since that's what the military expected, blue or black ink) and quickly got to work.

_Hey, B!_

_Thanks for the letter. I really appreciate it. Made my day. I honestly don't get any mail (emails included) so this was nice. Feel free to send more, if you want to. I would love to hear from you. You're welcome for the "serving our country" thing but you really don't have to thank me. And I am scared, honestly. This is my first deployment and I'm only twenty years old. My name is Zacky, by the way. Zacky Baker and I'm a private. You can look me up on Facebook if you want pictures or whatever. There's not much, don't use it that often, but just in case you wanted to see what I looked like. Not much to look at, really. Just an average guy. Or below average. Probably below average, haha. Anyway, this is my second month in Iraq. It's very hot here. And sandy. I drive a humvee, one of those Jeeps, ya know? I guess this kinda is like the movies. Haven't really seen any "real war," I guess you could say. Only one IED but it was a dud and no one got hurt. But I don't want to scare you or anything. Thank you again for your letter, it really means a lot to me. You can write again if you want, as often as you want, though we don't always get mail on time. Takes a bit to go through it and they have to check everything to make sure it's not a bomb or something. The joys of the military! Everything could be a bomb, apparently. But that's a whole other story._

_Hope to maybe hear from you again!_

_Private Baker_

He was still smiling as he signed the letter. He was still smiling after he sent it. And later that night, when he was laying down and trying to sleep. Much to his surprise, it took him just a few minutes to drift off into sleep instead of a couple of hours, like usual. And it was kind of the best sleep he had had in a long time.


	2. A Lonely Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Freeze!" Johnny called out to the girl, his weapon no longer on safety. Zacky switched his off as well. His green eyes stayed locked on his target as she kept walking toward him. His chest tightened. This couldn't be happening. This was so... unreal. But the girl kept walking.
> 
> "Halt!" It was Zacky who shouted the command this time. He felt his heart starting to quicken. He felt oddly numb. But the girl kept walking.
> 
> And then she was shifting the baby, her face void of all expression, and -
> 
> It wasn't a baby.
> 
>  _Fuck!_ was all he had time to think as he registered the gun in the girl's hand. It was aimed at him and Johnny. He knew what he had to do. His finger was on the trigger. He was a good shot. He knew that he was. He barely ever missed a shot. He had shot people before. This wasn't new to him. 
> 
> But this wasn't an enemy soldier. This was someone's daughter. So he hesitated.
> 
> He fucking hesitated.
> 
> He saw the girl pull the trigger just a millisecond before he pulled his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is late but happy veterans day! I've never been in combat so this is probably complete bullshit but I tried.
> 
> Also... prepare your feels. Shit is about to get hella sad.
> 
> Playlist: http://8tracks.com/fleabittengray/gunslinger
> 
> Tumblr: meteoric-war
> 
> Twitter: @fallenangel6661

Months passed, almost a year, with near constant contact with the mysterious B. Well, as constant as one could get when mail took forever and a day to be received and it was your only means of communication with someone. Add that to the fact that Zacky was going on various patrols every few weeks, giving him very little time to reply to letters (or at least as often as he would life) and it was kind of miserable. It was something that the twenty year old had never experienced before. He'd never had letters to look forward to, had never been eager to write down for someone else all of the events that had happened that day. He usually just wrote in his journal, which was easy enough to carry around in one of his cargo pockets because it was rather small, but now he was excited to tell B all about his day. To be honest, he didn't know much about her. She still hadn't told him her name but he knew her age now, she was twenty-three (so no flirty high school girl for him, though B was better than that, in his opinion) and still lived with her parents while looking for a job. She played guitar (which was awesome because so did Zacky though he hadn't played in quite some time) and liked tattoos and piercings. Zacky also had a minimal idea of what she looked like. Black hair, brown eyes, tan skin, and a few tattoos (she planned on adding more). She had gone on Zacky's Facebook and looked through his pictures and said that she thought he was cute (he'd actually blushes upon reading that) and said her favorite pictures was him in full uniform, ACH and bullet proof vest included, holding his rifle with a cigarette between his lips, gazing at the camera with a faint smile. It had been taken by Sergeant Sanders his first day here and he'd uploaded it and set it to his profile pictures because he thought he actually looked kind of, maybe, a tiny bit attractive in it. And it made him feel even better about himself knowing that B liked it.

It was with those good feelings in mind that he got out of his humvee, heart fluttering nervously as he looked around the desert. He was behind two other vehicles. Their leader had broken down or something from what he had heard and now they had to pull security or something while the truck was checked out. For some reason, Zacky had a bad feeling and as he glanced over at Private Seward who was just getting out of the passenger side of the humvee he tried to swallow down the feeling. Johnny smiled at him before moving over to the side of the road. Zacky thought he heard him mumble something along the lines of "we need better funding for this shit" but he couldn't be sure.

Unable to shake that feeling that something horrific was about to happen, the young soldier took a deep breath before walking over to stand beside his friend. Technically, he was supposed to be on the other side of the road but... he just couldn't. He had to be close to someone he was friends with right now and he couldn't explain why.

"Hey, Baker," came Johnny's lazy reply as he calmly surveyed the area in front of them. Zacky nodded, a lump in his throat making it impossible to respond. Minutes passed by, however, and everything seemed fine. Normal. As normal as it could be considering they were technically in the middle of a war zone. But then... he saw her.

It was a young girl, a teenager, maybe. She couldn't have been any older than thirteen or fourteen. She was dressed in torn clothing, her face and clothes dirty, and in her arms she was carrying what looked to be a baby. His heart sank. They had been put through this very scenario at training but he had been praying that he would never actually have to experience it. Zacky knew what he had to do, however, so he raised his weapon, aiming it at the girl as she approached them from behind a building. Johnny had seen her, too, and his weapon was also raised. Everything seemed unnaturally quiet and Zacky was strangely calm, considering the fact that he had his semi-automatic weapon aimed at a damned kid.

"Freeze!" Johnny called out to the girl, his weapon no longer on safety. Zacky switched his off as well. His green eyes stayed locked on his target as she kept walking toward him. His chest tightened. This couldn't be happening. This was so... unreal. But the girl kept walking.

"Halt!" It was Zacky who shouted the command this time. He felt his heart starting to quicken. He felt oddly numb. But the girl kept walking.

And then she was shifting the baby, her face void of all expression, and -

It wasn't a baby.

 _Fuck!_ was all he had time to think as he registered the gun in the girl's hand. It was aimed at him and Johnny. He knew what he had to do. His finger was on the trigger. He was a good shot. He knew that he was. He barely ever missed a shot. He had shot people before. This wasn't new to him. 

But this wasn't an enemy soldier. This was someone's daughter. So he hesitated.

He fucking hesitated.

He saw the girl pull the trigger just a millisecond before he pulled his own.

He didn't hear anything. Everything was completely silent. But he could see the bullet as it zipped through the air. It hit the girl right between her eyes. He would never forget the sight of her head just... exploding. There was so much blood. And it was just a kid, so young, so innocent, probably just doing what she was told to do like any good kid would do... and now she was dead. He had killed her. He had just killed a kid.

He felt sick. Bile was rising from his stomach, burning the back of his throat, but then suddenly he was hit with sound once more.

He heard two bodies hit the ground, shouts from the other soldiers. 

Johnny.

Halfway to panic, the young soldier turned to his friend. And was quickly horrified. 

The bullet had hit the shorter man in the neck. How the fuck he was still alive, Zacky had no idea, but he was and that stupidly gave him hope. He hurried over and dropped to his knees (a stupid move, really, considering there could have been more enemies) and applied pressure to the wound. His hands and sleeves were instantly coated in blood. It was hot and sticky and so, so sickening. Johnny wasn't moving, just staring up at the sky as he struggled to breathe. He looked terrified.

"Hey, short shit," Zacky whispered, trying to keep his voice from shaking. Why wouldn't the blood fucking stop?! "I'm here. It's alright. I got her, okay?"

Johnny blinked, his wide eyes finding Zacky's face, and he somehow found the strength to move. Adrenaline, maybe? He reached into one of his pockets and pulled out a neatly folded letter. He weakly shoved it at the younger man, his hand trembling terribly. His voice was so weak, so fucking weak, as he said, "Nice shot, Z."

Zacky knew. He knew, but he didn't want to accept it. Instead, he applied more pressure to the wound (how could such a tiny guy have so much damn blood?) and shook his head.

"You're mailing that fucking letter to your boyfriend, faggot. Okay? Not me."

But it was over. It was too late. Johnny's hand had dropped and his eyes had lost their light. Zacky could feel, he could _feel,_ when his heart stopped beating. He wasn't aware that he was screaming. Blood was everywhere but somehow the letter only had a drop of blood on the corner of it. Someone, he didn't know who, shoved it into his pocket. They were shouting commands into his ear, shoving his rifle at him. 

For the first time since the beginning of basic training, the weapon felt heavy in his hands.

*

Zacky shoved the letter into an envelope the second after he got out of the shower. He scribbled on the address after sealing the envelope, copying it off of the many letters that were stacked neatly on the table beside Johnny's bed. He mailed it, his heart heavy, and approached Sergeant Sanders. They had discussed this earlier. He was going to call Jimmy. Zacky knew that Sanders would probably call as well but Zacky felt like he had to be the one to tell him.

The phones just so happened to be working perfectly that day. Jimmy picked up on the third ring.

"Hello?"

"James?" Zacky's voice was dull but no longer shaking. 

"Jimmy, yeah, who's this?"

Zacky hesitated. He knew the moment he said who he was that Jimmy would know.

"I'm so sorry."

There was silence on the other end of the line, faint static as well. Zacky would hear Jimmy breathing. It was so, so sad.

"I fucking... I hesitated. I should have taken the shot sooner. I'm so sorry. He had a letter. I didn't read it. I'm sorry."

Someone was taking the phone away from him now. He didn't hear Jimmy's response. He was being led back to his bed. He didn't know who it was. 

He was still crying when he fell asleep.

*

_B,_

_I wish you were here. Yesterday, I shot a kid. I shot her in the head. It was awful but she had a gun and she didn't stop when we told her to. She shot my friend, she shot Johnny. I mailed his final letter and called his boyfriend, Jimmy. I couldn't say much. I started crying. Sergeant Sanders talked to him, I guess. I don't know. I just... I wish you were here. I feel awful. It's my fault. I didn't take the shot soon enough. I hesitated. But it was a KID! But a kid that fucking killed my friend. He died because I let my emotions get in the way of my training. I feel still sick. There was so much blood. I've shot people before but it was enemy soldiers, grown men, not fucking kids. I don't know what to do with myself. I won't ever forget the sight of the bullet going right into her fucking skull or the blood gushing from Johnny's neck or how damn heavy my weapon felt in my hands. I'll understand if you don't want to talk to me anymore. I can't imagine anyone wanting to talk to a goddamn child killer._

_Zacky._

*

_Zacky,_

_I feel so sorry for you and your friend's boyfriend. I can't imagine what it must be like for you, though. Please don't beat yourself up over this. Please. You're a good man from everything that you've told me, and from what I've read what others post on your Facebook page. You're not a monster, babe, you're just doing your job. Please. Please. Don't do this to yourself. Just keep doing your job, okay? It's what you're there for. The girl had a gun. If you didn't kill her she would have killed you, just like she killed Johnny, and I can't imagine my life without you now that we've been talking for this long even if it hasn't really been that long at all. You're... my best friend, okay? I've told you things I haven't told anyone else and if it's okay with you when you come home maybe we could meet up? If you want to. Of course I want to talk to you. I never want to stop talking to you. I don't want to freak you out or anything but... I think I might love you._

_Stay safe and take care of yourself, okay?_

_B._

*

That letter made Zacky cry all over again. He held it in his hands all night, clutched against his chest. He slept through the night for the first time in a long time. He hadn't had anyone tell him that they loved him in a long time. Maybe things would be okay.

He didn't know what to write the next day so he just wrote four little words above his name.

_B,_

_I love you, too._

_Zacky._


	3. The Soldiers Creed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I will always place the mission first.  
> I will never accept defeat.  
> I will never quit.  
> I will never leave a fallen comrade.
> 
>  
> 
> _I hope someone tells B that I died. I hope she gets to come to my funeral._
> 
>  
> 
> _I love you, B. Please forgive me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SO SORRY IT'S BEEN FOREVER SINCE I UPDATED THIS I DIDN'T THINK ANYONE WAS INTERESTED! D:
> 
> Next time, hit me up on my Tumblr (slendyisbae.tumblr.com, anon is on) or my Twitter (@fallenangel6661) and bug me to update if it's been more than a week since the last one.
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy this. Sorry it's not that great. Writers block and feeling like crap.
> 
> Trigger warning for suicide.
> 
> Don't forget that this fic has a playlist! If you have any song suggestions, leave them in the comments or on Tumblr/Twitter. <3
> 
> http://8tracks.com/fleabittengray/gunslinger

He's lost track of the days. He feels pathetic, knowing that he's becoming basically a zombie, but at least he has the letters. Whenever there isn't a new one to read, which is often, he just rereads all of the old ones, starting from the first one. All of the new ones end the same way. I love you. It makes his heart swell every time he reads those three words, words he hasn't been told in so long (not counting from the others... well, just one other person now... ever since Johnny... but no, he doesn't want to remember that). He may still not know B's name or what she really looks like, just a few vague details, but he loves her, he's so sure that he does. He can feel it in his bones. He's never even heard her _voice,_ but, God, he knows she must sound beautiful. _Look_ beautiful. They haven't officially agreed on meeting yet. Zacky brings it up every now and again, just briefly, writing something like "if I ever get to meet you, I'm hugging you and never letting you go," and she'll say something like "that would be amazing, I would love that," but they haven't actually made plans. He isn't even sure where in Huntington Beach she lives. Could be near where he lives, could be far away, but he's willing to make it work. He needs this. He needs someone to love, someone to hold him, especially when he gets home. To be honest, the thought of going home, back to civilian life, freaks him out. And being alone in his little house, just one bedroom, a bathroom that is thankfully big enough to fit a tub, and a kitchen that connects to the living room... it sounds terrifying. Being alone sounds awful. Deployment is all he knows anymore and this is just his first one. Sometimes he wonders if he should talk to Sergeant Sanders about it but the older man is already worried about him, always checking up on him, so Zacky just sticks to writing in his journal. He doesn't even tell B about his worries because, you never know, she could somehow tell Matt (that's Sergeant Sander's name, Matt) and Zacky could get in trouble. He tries not to think that he may be developing a bit of paranoia. It's nothing to worry about, he tells himself, nothing at all. It's just nerves because of what he has to do in the morning, that's all. The mission should take a day, a day and a half at most, and then he can come back to his bed and go back to writing in his journal and reading letters and informing B all about his day. Perhaps he should go hang out with the others. They're always asking him to. They worry about him, too, but they don't push him as much as Sanders does... or as much as Seward did. But Zacky doesn't want to think about that. He doesn't want to think about the gunshot, the blood, his goddamn hesitation. Right now he just needs to go to bed. Yeah, that's it. Just... just some sleep. Sleep will make this all better.

*

It's early. The sun is barely up but him and the rest of the men on this mission (it's all men for once) have been up for hours. They're driving across the desert now and Zacky is tense, his hands gripping the steering wheel of the humvee like his life depends on it. He tells himself it's just nerves, that it has nothing to do with the fact that they will be passing the very spot where Johnny died. This is his job, has been since he was seventeen, he can do this. He tries to pay attention to what the other men are saying, senseless chatter, really. No one else seems nervous. And no one bothers to talk to him. They tried to, at first, but Zacky isn't very good at conversation anymore. Not since that day. It's like being in school all over again. He's awkward and unsure of himself, not the best thing to be when you carry a goddamn semi-automatic rifle in your hands and other people depend on you to keep them alive, but no one mentions it. They just let Private Baker be himself. Some can relate, or so they say. They've had their battles (that's short for battle buddies) die on them, too. Some have held them as they died. Some have seen their battles, young men like Zacky, be blown to bits because they failed to notice an IED (hey, some of them are pretty well hidden!) and they go on and on about how Zacky just has to deal with it. Deal with the death. Get through the pain. Because he is an American Soldier. _But what about never leaving a fallen comrade?_ he always thinks when he tells them that but he never brings it up because he knows what they would say. He didn't leave Johnny. Which is true but, like... Johnny was his best friend here. And he just hasn't had a best friend in... well. Never. He's never had a best friend. He was never really well liked in school. Not even by his family. Never had many friends and the friends he had were really just people that put up with him - letting him sign their yearbooks and sit with them at lunch and add them on Facebook - but after he dropped out he didn't talk to them anymore and they didn't bother to talk to him. The day his family died, he got maybe two or three messages on Facebook, just generic messages saying how they were sorry for his loss and that they would be there if he needed anyone to talk to. He knew they were lying. They didn't even show up at the funeral. Zacky almost didn't. But he went. And he cried because his family may not have liked him, maybe not even loved him, but they had been all he had and now they were gone. All because of a stupid fucking car crash. He hadn't been in the car. He'd been sick, decided he didn't want to go see some stupid movie, and then the police had shown up and, well, that was that. They were gone. He was alone. And now he was in fucking Iraq. He'd never even been interested in the military before but the recruiter had promised him money and college and, like all the other young boys, he had hoped. The army really had a way of making people hope. They shoved the Soldiers Creed and the Army Values down their throats, made them learn how to work together, trained them how to be professional killers, then sent them off to kill terrorists disguised as little girls carrying babies that turned out to be guns.

_I stand ready to deploy, engage, and destroy the enemies of the United States of America in close combat._  
I am a guardian of freedom and the American way of life.  
I am an American Soldier. 

Those three lines were busy repeating themselves in his eyes, green eyes focused on the road in front of him and the one other humvee ahead of him. Somehow it just didn't seem right. He had not been ready to destroy that enemy, that little girl, and it had cost his friend his life. He felt his chest tighten, his heart fluttering in this weird, uncomfortable way, and, for a moment, he felt as if he couldn't breathe. His fingers tightened around the steering wheel even more and he took a deep breath, holding it for a moment before letting it out again. He could do this.

They were passing where Johnny had died now and, unable to help himself, he turned his head to the right to look passed the passenger next to him, looking at the place where Johnny had fallen. It was so strange, seeing it now. He wasn't sure if he was seeing bloodstains or if it was just his imagination. He gulped, feeling his eyes start to sting, and turned to face forward again.

That's when the explosion happened.

He wasn't sure what triggered it - him or the humvee in front of him - but it all happened so quickly and he was strangely very calm about it. He felt the vehicle lose control and then another explosion, so loud it made his ears ring, and he felt something warm and wet on his left leg but he didn't feel any pain. More explosions, gunshots, shouting and cursing, but the vehicle was still moving. It hit the ground on its left side, coming down hard in the sand, and Zacky let out a grunt he didn't hear. The warm, wet feeling was spreading, covering his whole left thigh, making the bottoms of his ACUs stick to him, and then something... hit him? He didn't know, but it hurt, the back of his head, the small area where the helmet didn't cover, and there was nothing after that. Darkness. Everything faded. He had time for one last thought before his body went limp.

_I hope someone tells B that I died. I hope she gets to come to my funeral._

*

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

The beeping was driving him crazy. He had no idea what it was. Also... why was it dark? And why was he in a bed? A bed that was a hell of a lot more comfortable than he was used to? 

He took a breath only to realize that there was something on his face. At first, he thought it was a gas mask, the one he had used in basic for the gas chamber (CS gas was a bitch) but this felt different. It only covered his nose and mouth and it was much lighter and flimsier. The next thing he realized was that he wasn't wearing his uniform nor was he in his PT clothes or the few civilian clothes he had brought with him. It felt like he wasn't wearing anything but a thin cloth or something. And there were blankets over him, he could feel them now, as well as...

"Shit!" he cried out though it was more of a squeak. His throat felt dry, like it would get after not talking for a long time, but what he paid most attention to was the pain in his leg. 

His eyes snapped open.

Where was he? It was... a room? A _hospital_ room? What the fuck? Why was he here? For a moment, he felt panic. Had he been captured? Despite the pain in his leg, he tried to move, and the alarm that went off somehow reminded him of bombs and explosions and war and a little girl getting shot between the eyes because he was a damn good shot, her head exploding, a father finding his daughter, dead, swearing to avenge her death.

At first, he wasn't even aware that anyone had come into the room, so when he suddenly felt hands on him, he freaked out. He started to scream. He wasn't even aware of what he was screaming. He swung at the people, seeing only enemies of the United States of America, the country he had sworn to protect, but somehow the people managed to pin him down and then there was a needle in his arm and blackness.

*

It took him three days to realize what had happened, until he had calmed down enough for anyone to talk to. The nurses were afraid of him. Apparently, he had broken a young nurse's nose and she now refused to come into his room. He didn't remember that but he had asked his doctor to tell her that he was sorry.

Zacky learned that he had been in a coma for six months. His left leg had been crushed by the humvee. At first, it has just been glass from the broken windshield that had cut into his thigh (he could kind of remember the feeling of warmth and wetness spreading over his thigh, he knew now that it was blood) but after the humvee had flipped and landed, his leg had been crushed. He almost died. He had lost a lot of blood, been hit hard in the back of the head, been knocked out. Lifeless. No one was even sure how he survived but he had.

"Will I ever be able to, you know... walk again?" he asked, his voice dull, and the doctor had shrugged.

"With a walker, yes, with a cane, maybe. Unassisted? We aren't sure. But you're alive. You should be glad, Private Baker."

Private Baker. He glanced down at his leg. 

"Please don't ever call me that again. Call me Zacky... No. Zack."

That was the last time any of the staff ever called him Private again.

Three months later, walking with a cane, he was released from the hospital. With no one to pick him up, he had to take a taxi home.

Not even twenty-four hours later, he was stripped down naked laying in his bathtub. He had filled it with hot water, as hot as he could stand.

The Soldiers Creed repeated in his head as he brought the razor to his wrist, so much thinner than it had been all those months ago, only growing fainter as he pressed the cool metal to his skin and dragged it up toward his inner elbow. He felt no pain. He felt nothing. He was numb. He saw the blood and it made him feel sick so he shut his eyes, leaning his head back against the wall as he repeated the same process on his other arm, from his wrist to his inner elbow, and then dropped the blade, letting it sink.

As blackness took over again (they were growing to be rather good friends, weren't they?) the last thing he thought was...

_I love you, B. Please forgive me._


	4. I Cannot Live, I Cannot Die

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He lifted two fingers to Zacky's neck, reluctantly pushing them against the pulse point, once again holding his breath as he waited. And then he let out a broken sob when he felt it. A pulse. He was _alive._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for description of a suicide attempt! Jimmy's POV. 
> 
> Playlist: http://8tracks.com/fleabittengray/gunslinger-synacky-fic
> 
> Twitter: fallenangel6661  
> Tumblr: slendyisbae

Jimmy had heard about a guy named Zacky that had arrived in the local hospital. Well, more like his kind-of-sort-of boyfriend, and nurse at the hospital, Arin, had told him about a new patient that had fit Zacky's description arriving at the hospital and Jimmy may or may not have tricked Arin into telling him his name. Alcohol may or may not have been involved. Either way, Jimmy had been wanting to visit him, so sure that it was the same Zacky that Johnny had written about in his letters and talked about on the phone the few times they had talked. There was a pain in his chest when he thought about their last phone call. Johnny had been so excited, couldn't wait to come home in a few months, couldn't wait to fall into Jimmy's arms again, but the much shorter man was gone now. Jimmy would never see him again. But... Zacky was kind of a part of Johnny, wasn't he? They had been best friends - battle buddies or whatever it was called in the military. But Arin had informed him that Zacky didn't want visitors, that he barely liked having the staff come check in on him, so Jimmy had respected that. Besides, what was he going to say? He hadn't heard anything from Zacky since that one phone call but he still felt like... like he had to thank him in some way. For even bothering to call him. It meant a lot, coming from a friend rather than some other soldier. A sergeant or a captain or whatever else. So, while Zacky was in the hospital, Jimmy stayed away, but when Arin let slip that Zacky had been released from the hospital and sent home, he went right to the internet and did some hardcore Googling until he came up with an address and a phone number. He tried the phone number first, nervous, but the phone just rang and rang until the voicemail picked up. He tried again, twice, a weird feeling in his gut. He told himself that it was nothing, that Zacky was probably asleep or something, but the feeling in his gut grew so strong, a pain he couldn't explain, it made him want to vomit, and something told him he had to go there. He had to go knock on his door. Just... just to make sure everything was alright.

As he drove over there, Jimmy wondered if Zacky would even know who he was. Did he even know that they lived close to one another? How much did he know? Thinking about it nearly made Jimmy turn back around but that feeling came back, strong enough to make him place a hand tightly over his lips, breathing shaky. He continued to drive, too on edge to even put music on, blue eyes staring at the road ahead of him and, when he got to Zacky's neighborhood, he slowed down. He felt so... so strange. He'd never been to this part of town before, never even known this place existed, but that wasn't why he felt nervous. Hell, Jimmy rarely ever felt nervous. He was confident, a bit cocky, some called him arrogant, but something just felt so strange about this. But he was here now, might as well go pop in and say hello.

He parked his car in the driveway, finding it strange that the small little house was... completely dark. And silent. Like, eerily silent, like that moment in a horror movie where things go terribly wrong. And Jimmy watched a _lot_ of horror movies. He even did special effects of his own, was hoping to get a job on a big film eventually instead of indie horror movies. Not that he minded good indie movies. But. Right. Zacky. He couldn't let himself get distracted, not right now, this was important. This was for Johnny. His Johnny. God, he missed him. So, so much.

When he got up to the door, he paused, trying to breath as quietly as possible. He looked around, lifting a hand slowly, knocking once. Nothing. Twice. Three times, a little louder this time. Still nothing. Maybe Zacky was sleeping. Or maybe he'd fallen down because of his leg injury and couldn't get back up. That was a good enough reason to break into someone's house, right? Even if you'd never met said person in your life before? Right? It was a good deed? He wouldn't get arrested? Because he really couldn't afford to be arrested again. Arin was more of a good boy than Johnny and always got really upset when Jimmy got in trouble. Maybe he shouldn't try the door... but what if Zacky never managed to get up and no one came to check on him? He remember Johnny mentioning something about Zacky having no family or friends outside of the military.

He tried the door. It was unlocked so, hey, technically it wasn't breaking in... right?

What he noticed first was the silence. It... it was so _heavy._ It made him shiver. The TV was off. No music. No lights turned on. Just silence. He felt like he should be holding his breath or something so that he didn't disturb the silence and he actually did for a moment. And then he inhaled. And ended up holding his breath again, body growing cold and numb, heart rabbiting in his chest.

Blood. He could _smell_ it which, yeah, okay, sounded weird, but he swore he could. And he felt something he didn't feel often. Fear. No, more than that. Pure terror. He couldn't move but he knew that he had to so he stumbled forward, tripping over a pair of shoes by the door that had him falling against the wall, the noise sounding so fucking _loud_ in the silence of the house. It reminded him of funerals and graveyards and _death_ which made his body grow colder and he could already feel bile rising up his throat, burning, making his eyes water, but maybe he was just starting to cry already, before he even opened the bathroom door (he didn't know how he knew to look there first, he just _did_ ) and... and there he was. Zacky.

He was laying in the tub, naked, body pale, water on the floor, and Jimmy would have thought he was asleep. Had it not been for the blood and the shiny, silver razor blade on the floor next to the tub. In a puddle of blood. Holy shit. Blood. Razor. Suicide. Zacky was... No! Fuck. This couldn't be happening. What the _fuck?_

All he could do for a moment was stare before the bile began to rise again and he rushed to the toilet, vomiting profusely, body shaking, breath coming out in pants. And Zacky didn't move. Didn't make a sound. Not even when Jimmy straightened up and walked over to the tub, eyes wide, terrified, kneeling down by the tub and grabbing the former soldier's arm - his upper arm, he didn't even want to _look_ at the deep cuts on his forearms - and shook violently. He could hear himsefl screaming Zacky's name but it all seemed like... like another world. This couldn't be _real._ Surely that wasn't real blood soaking into his jeans as he kneels besides the tub, bloody water splashing up onto his arms and chest and face and hair. It was everywhere. So much blood. He couldn't. This couldn't be.

He lifted two fingers to Zacky's neck, reluctantly pushing them against the pulse point, once again holding his breath as he waited. And then he let out a broken sob when he felt it. A pulse. He was _alive._

Now his body was just working on some sort of instinct. He reached into the tub, not carrying about getting covered in water and blood anymore, not when Zacky was still alive, and lifted the limp body out of the tub, dragging him out, grabbing a towel off of the towel rack and wrapping it snuggly around Zacky's left arm, tears streaming down his face, and then he grabbed another towel and did the same for the other arm. Then he remembered that Zacky was completely nude and grabbed the last towel, draping it over his lower half, before digging into his pocket and pulling out his cellphone, nearly dropping it because his hands were shaking so bad, fingers covered in blood and water as he dialed 911.

He started speaking as soon as the operator picked up. He didn't know what he was saying, still feeling like... like none of this was _real._ But the operator told him people were on their way and then Jimmy hung up and did the only thing he could think of. He called Arin. He knew Arin couldn't use his phone at work but by some miracle, he answered, and all Jimmy could do was cry and cry and cry. He couldn't even speak.


	5. Dead Bodies Everywhere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Days in the psych ward passed slowly. He got a roommate on his third day, a young man, just barely eighteen named Jacob. Depressed, he said. Zacky couldn't imagine why. His family came to visit him twice a day. A mother, a father, an older sister. His girlfriend. His two best friends. And yet he would keep saying how his life sucked, how all he wanted to do was die. Zacky would just stare at him during groups. He would give anything to have that kid's life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Delayed update oops buT LOOK HERE IT IS YAY.
> 
> I know it rambles. It's supposed to be that way until Zacky can think straight again. ;)
> 
> More suicide triggers, blah blah blah.
> 
> Please for the love of Johnny Christ get yourself help if you struggle with suicidal thoughts. <3
> 
> Playlist: http://8tracks.com/fleabittengray/gunslinger-synacky-fic
> 
> Tumblr: slendyisbae  
> Twitter: fallenangel6661 OR keiramartinez_

Soldiers were trained how to die. How to deal with death. They were taught how to carry on, how to keep pushing themselves to their limits. Soldiers were killers, murderers, trained how to protect and defend not only themselves and their battle buddies, but their country. Zacky was no different. He'd done his best, trained his hardest, and been well liked by most of those that he met in the military. They had become his family, in a way... and yet none of them had ever come to see him. Not when he was in a coma and not while he was recovering from that coma and relearning how to walk. At least Sergeant Sanders had called though the call had been dropped. Zacky hadn't bothered trying to call him back.

What soldiers weren't prepared for... was learning how to come back to life. Be it relearning how to integrate back into civilian society or literally coming back to life, soldiers weren't taught how to make that switch. War was constant. It was on the news, in the papers, in books and movies and tv shows. It was everywhere. War had become his life. He couldn't relate to anything else. 

It was quite a shock when his eyes reopened. 

He was in hospital room once again. Funny how that kept happening. It was like God didn't want him to die, or maybe the Devil just wouldn't let him. Either way, he was... alive. In a hospital. On a bed. How he'd gotten there he had no idea. That last thing he remembered was getting home from the hospital, stripping himself down, getting into a hot bath, and killing himself. Or trying to, at least. He had thought he was dead. All he had "seen" was blackness. He hadn't been afraid, either. Weird. All those anti suicide campaigns that told suicidal people that, when they tried to killed themselves, they would find that they wanted to live as the life left their bodies. That wasn't what it had felt like to Zacky. He had felt at peace.

 _How did I end up like this?_ His green eyes blinked slowly, head turning just barely to look to his left. _Who found me?_ There was no one there. Just an empty chair. But there was... something unexpected. Flowers. Zacky blinked again, just as slowly, trying to make sense of it. They were in this shitty green vase that looked like it had to be plastic. The flowers themselves looked pretty shitty as well. He didn't know what kind they were. He wondered if they were plastic, too. _Why would someone put plastic flowers in a vase of water?_

*

His recovery was slow. His arms had required nearly a hundred stitched, total. Doctors had told him he was lucky not to have bled out. Zacky insisted he would have been lucky to die. That was what he wanted. Apparently that wasn't the right answer. A psychiatrist came to speak with him, ordered him up a cocktail of pills. Ativan, Prozac, a pain killer for his arms and his leg, an antibiotic. Every day he was asked how he felt. Every day he gave the same answer - I should have died when the bomb went off. 

Once the doctors were sure his arms weren't going to get infected, he was transferred from his hospital room to the psych wing. They pushed him along in a wheelchair. Everyone kept staring at him. Other patients. The staff. Visitors. Zacky tried to hide his arms but moving them hurt so he settled for ducking his head instead, staring down at his lap. He could hear the whispers. "What could be so bad in his life that he would want to end it?" he heard one girl whisper. "Why would he want to hurt his family and friends like that?" a woman murmured, sounding offended. The best, however, the best was this older man... he didn't whisper. He didn't murmur. He clearly said, voice loud, "This guy thinks _he_ has problems? Bet it's nothing what them fellas over seas have to deal with!"

Had he not been high off a mix of anti anxiety medication and pain pills, he would have laughed. Instead he just continued to stare at his lap. _If only you knew._

The war didn't stop when the soldiers came home. It kept going. And going. And going.

*

Checking in to the psych ward wasn't very eventful. Just annoying. Everyone treated him like he was fragile. The nurse doing his check even asked if he could stand! Sure, he nearly fell on his ass trying to prove that he could stand with the assistance of a chair, but at least he had proved her wrong. She had to make sure he had no sharp objects hidden anywhere. Had to make sure he wasn't going to hurt himself or someone else. So many questions, so many... He ended up tuning it all out. 

_How did I end up here?_

*

Days in the psych ward passed slowly. He got a roommate on his third day, a young man, just barely eighteen named Jacob. Depressed, he said. Zacky couldn't imagine why. His family came to visit him twice a day. A mother, a father, an older sister. His girlfriend. His two best friends. And yet he would keep saying how his life sucked, how all he wanted to do was die. Zacky would just stare at him during groups. He would give anything to have that kid's life. 

*

It wasn't until the beginning of his second week that Zacky got his first visitor. He was surprised when a nurse came to his room and told him. She had a bright smile on her face. Zacky couldn't stand it. But he got up, anyway, hobbling over to his wheelchair so he could wheel out to the day room where visits were made. He hated being confined to a wheelchair but he wasn't allowed to use his cane. They said it was because he was considered high risk. Zacky didn't question it. 

There were only two visitors in the day room when Zacky got there. One was with an elderly woman, a schizophrenic who frequently ended up in the quiet room because of screaming fits. The other was a tall man standing over by the window, looking out with his back turned to Zacky. Zacky had no idea who he was. He wheeled closer, a scowl on his face.

"Can I help you?" he asked, sounding tired and grumpy... sad.

The tall, lanky man spun around quickly, eyes wide and rimmed with red. Zacky wondered just why the hell this guy was crying. What could he possibly have to cry about? He had two working legs and unscarred arms. The man looked down at him. Zacky looked up, gaze unwavering, but after a few minutes of the man not saying anything the ex military man rolled his eyes and began to wheel away.

"W-wait!"

That voice. It was... familiar. Old school friend, maybe? How would they know he was here? Zacky didn't know, didn't really care, but he cared enough to pause, hands gripping onto the wheels of his chair.

"I don't know if you remember me. We never... actually met. Um. I... I'm Jimmy..."

Zacky couldn't hear whatever else that the man was saying. His voice faded and was replaced by gunshots and the exploding heads of children. It was replaced by the blood of his best and only friend soaking into his uniform, covering his hands. Just like when Johnny died, Zacky wasn't aware that he was screaming or crying. He wasn't even aware of being in the hospital, of having gotten out of his wheelchair, somehow launching himself at the taller, stronger man. He couldn't feel the hands pulling him back, couldn't hear the voices telling Jimmy to leave, that now wasn't a good time.

All he could do was remember.


End file.
